


A New Kind of Yoghurt Night (With a Distinct Lack of Bees)

by ohmygoshwhatascream



Category: Bee Movie (2007)
Genre: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Love at First Sight, Other, This is pure and utter shite im so sorry, i hate myself and now you all have to as well, ken gets his yoghurt night, yoghurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:08:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23742058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmygoshwhatascream/pseuds/ohmygoshwhatascream
Summary: Yoghurt night tends to be a lonely affair these days.
Relationships: Ken (Bee Movie)/Reader
Comments: 16
Kudos: 13





	A New Kind of Yoghurt Night (With a Distinct Lack of Bees)

**Author's Note:**

> i watched the bee movie with my good friends and so now this exists. i wont apologise for my sins. to all my gremlin friends, i love you all so very much. pls eat this up like the goblins u all are. 
> 
> this is the first thing ive written in 2 months yes i hate myself

The yoghurt tub is too big for just one person, yet still he sits there; spoon in hand, and eats it. 

Upon a park bench he rests in solitude, his eyes trained towards the skyline; no longer hazy with the noxious smog of car fumes, of burned petrol and of stinking fire. Instead, it is clear once more, the trees' rejuvenated leaves returning, darkened silhouettes against the pastel sky. 

Perhaps, a long time ago now, he would have been sharing this evening with someone. Someone  _ special. _ The name  _ Vanessa _ lingers on his lips, festers on the very tip of his tongue; an unhealed wound. Blood congealed over,  _ oozing _ , still raw and painful and red. 

If he were to describe himself, as he so often finds himself doing, (It took a lot of time and effort to make resumes as  _ stellar _ as his own) he'd say he's a  _ beast _ of a man. A certain cut above the rest of them, someone special, someone  _ important. _ Not someone who could be set aside, not someone who could be  _ replaced. _

Not someone who could be swapped out for a  _ bee _ of all things. A Bee! A goddamn  _ bee! _ And not just  _ any _ bee, oh no! The  _ idiot _ who tried and managed to (somehow)  _ sue _ the entire human race! For honey!  _ Honey! _

And, as if  _ that _ wasn't enough, that bee had to go and snatch up  _ his _ girlfriend with his tiny, little, sticky-grabby hands. Disgusting bug hands! All his legs! His fuzzy little body, his stupid antennae. He was a  _ bug _ for fuck's sake. A  _ bug! _ And Vanessa had picked that buzzy little insect over  _ him! _ A fully grown,  _ human, _ male.

That bee could have  _ killed  _ him, with his very severe and most certainly life-threatening allergies, but Vannessa hadn't cared one bit. She'd become…  _ enamoured _ with that talking bee on instinct,  _ love at first sight _ , his mind supplied and he tried to suppress a gag. 

He doesn't even want to  _ think _ about what that bee has over him. He doesn't want to even ask how a relationship between a bee and a human works. 

So, just like that, he'd been wiped out of Vannessa's life.

As in,  _ sure, _ there were a few incidents, here and there. Like the time he  _ did _ almost burn her house down with an impromptu flame thrower he created out of an aerosol can and a lighter, but that wasn't really such a big deal. If anything, it showed his creativity! His sharp intellect, his endless wit, the way he always managed to think on his feet! And, besides, fire is  _ cool. _ If anything, it was a good job that Vannessa had ditched him. His many talents obviously weren't appreciated with her, and if she wants to fuck bees then, in all honesty, Ken wants no part of that.

So, for the most part, he moves on.

For sure, he has his moments. Like when he first saw that damn bee's name emblazoned, right beside Vannessa's, on the front of her brand new, re-opened shop. That had  _ stung, _ truly. To see the evidence of his replacement so blatantly stated like that, to see just how easily Vanessa had managed to wipe him from her life.

But he had gotten over that, eventually. He had moved on. He was getting better, he'd stopped crying himself to sleep now, at least, but it was the little things that would catch him out now.

Yoghurt night, specifically. One of his weekly rituals. Something that he had  _ always  _ done, long before Vanessa, and something that he would continue to do, even if the sight of a pot of yoghurt felt like a kick in the teeth.

However, he was determined to soldier on. Grit his teeth through the aching of his heart and to eat his goddamn yoghurt like a  _ man.  _

But it's hard to sit there alone. Especially when, after the bees had returned to their work, everyone seemed to be outside these days. The world was alight, not just with the rebirth of flora that span candyfloss light across the city, but also the  _ people. _ Everything was so damn busy now. Always, there were people outside. And, more often than not, they'd be in pairs. Friends, lovers, all together. Groups of people; smiling, laughing. Enjoying one another's company. Yet here he is, alone. Just he, himself, and his trusted pot of yoghurt. 

There he sits, face growing dark under the lengthening shadows, and there he stays. He stays until the sun dips west, slipping lower and lower down the firelit sky, slipping down into streaks of lilac and pink, melting into flames of red and orange and vanishing into white-yellow light. He stays there until that is gone, until the colour is bled out by the ever-coming night and the world is swallowed in silver-gloom, pinpricks of starlight lighting up the blanket of night sky. 

Twiddling his spoon between clenched fingers, his jaw moving mechanically, as if he has been left on autopilot, more machine than man, he tries to forget about what has happened. The yoghurt is good, but it is simply too much for one man to finish. He should have bought a smaller pot, but he'd grabbed the larger size on instinct. He'd been so used to sharing with someone that he hadn't even stopped to think.

But that's when it happens. That's when he spies  _ you. _ Half lit under the filter of moonlight, almost luminescent under a blue-tinged glow, you walk through the park. He cannot help but notice that you walk alone, your only companion the darkness of your shadow, falling behind you in spatters of starlight. 

You approach and his throat goes dry. All thoughts of Vanessa, all thoughts of Barry, are instantly wiped from his mind. 

He catches your eyes, a haunted expression painted across his face that stops you in his tracks. Starstruck by this beautiful specimen of man, truly a God in a world of mere mortals. You are drawn to him, a moth to a flame, unable to stop the movement of your feet, the thudding of your heart. 

You approach him, take in the strongness of his jaw, the way the shape of his head reminds you of a rectangle, (a  _ sexy  _ rectangle, you think to yourself) the broadness of his chest and, as you take a peek down, the thiccness of his hips. (Damn, this boi is thicc, you whisper to yourself, breath barely a murmur in the peaceful night) 

He's perfect, the man of your dreams. A dreamboat, a hunk. And, just looking at the confident smirk that spreads across his lips, he looks like a man who knows his way around a pair of chopsticks. Truly the most amazing skill that any man could have. 

You exhale, a breath leaving your lungs that you didn't even realise that you had been holding. Your breath puffs out from between parted lips, a ghostly mirage of smoke rising from the smile that begins to spread across your face. 

_ He's perfect,  _ you think. _ He's the most beautiful creature on earth. _

You step towards him, inch your way closer to the park bench. It is as though the stars themselves have aligned for this meeting, for he shifts himself ever so slightly, leaving just enough room for you to slide yourself next to him. His thigh is warm against your own and his breath ghosts against your cheek, he smiles. 

There is a pause, a flicker of electricity that thrums between you. He freezes, hand raising to his jacket. 

He rummages around for a bit, brows furrowing in concentration. Then, with a quirk of his lips, he pulls a spoon out from his pocket. 

"You've always got to carry a spare yoghurt spoon around with you, in case of emergencies." 

With hands that only tremble slightly, you accept the gift, holding the spoon like one would hold a royal sceptre. You accept his gift with an incline of the head, accept his invitation of yoghurt night.

There the two of you sit, upon the park bench with the stars twinkling high above you. Just him, you and your yoghurt.

Not a single bee in sight.

**Author's Note:**

> if ur reading this,,,, why?


End file.
